The Nation Hunt
by iSoftRain
Summary: The year is 2159. The events of the prior years have been terrible. Now, there is a new threat to the Nations. Their own people. Rated T for potential language and violence. Rating may change in later chapters.
1. Prologue Part One

**3rd Person POV - Location: Unknown **

**Friday, August 13th, 2159 **

It was cold, and the walls were falling down. The Nations had gathered in the most obvious of places for their top secret gathering - an abandoned warehouse. There were many, cloaked in waves and folds of coarse black fabric, hoods drawn tight. A table had been dragged here, courtesy of England, for the occasion, being the end of the Third World War. The rest of the Nations had scrounged for chairs, and many had been uncovered, folding chairs and dining-room chairs, but there were not nearly enough. Civil and neutral Nations gave up their rights to seating to the more aggressive Nations.  
It was the end of the Third World War, and the war had not, as predicted, ended the world upon which that war was fought. Rather, it had greatly decreased the net population of the nations that fought and those who threw themselves, unwittingly or by choice, into the crossfire. Many great republics had been lost in the war, and meetings such as this were commonly called to report the passing of a Nation or a rising of a powerful empire.  
Meetings such as this took place in locations that were secure, neutral territories. Liechtenstein was a popular choice for locations, as well as Sealand and Tasmania. Locations such as southern Svalbard were also commonly used. This time, the meeting took place in Iceland. The host Nation, who stood leaning against a wall at the front of the room, having not even been considered in the arrangement of chairs, conducted a quiet, and long, headcount. When at last he had completed it, the silver haired Nation paused, his hand hanging limply at his side.  
"Well?" Germany said impatiently after a minute. Iceland hesitated even longer, though he knew they had little time to waste. "Cut to the chase, Iceland. Who's dead?"  
"...It's France." Iceland spoke so quietly Germany had to ask him to repeat before he turned and relayed the information to the anxious crowd of Nations. The Europe group had already begun to count their own group, as had the other continental groups, and they murmured surprise.  
France was a proud Nation, with territory expanding much of north-western Europe. He had not quite reached Czech Republic, but the young woman looked quite relieved to hear of his disappearance. Italy, as well, seemed a bit more upbeat at the prospect of the end to France's slow but steady expansion into Italian lands. Germany sighed. This would be hard to relay back to his brother, whom was left behind in Berlin. There was a moment of solemn silence in grieving for the Frenchman, though few must have actually been grieving.  
By unspoken agreement, when the moment of silence was finished and the Nations' murmuring began anew, most of the European, Asian, and African Nations looked towards England. Denmark coughed lightly before recieving a sharp jab in the stomach by his Norwegian neighbor, and England looked up. The Europeans had shifted away from the Englishman, leaving him on an island of solitude in the near center of the room.  
"What!" He exclaimed, seeing so many Nation's eyes turned towards him, but none meeting his own. The Nations who had been too oblivious or too nervous to look at the Brit looked up at his outburst of anger. "You think I killed him." He accused. A few Nations shrugged and looked away, nobody speaking. England was a rather large Nation, not to mention the most powerful, having taken over most of Ireland's land territory and barricading against the floods of 2092 which swallowed the rest of the Irish man's land territory. England was also the second to take to underseas colonies after his Irish brother.  
"Well you were the closest and likely the only one big enough, aru." China pointed out. England had to admit that this was a true statement, though it didn't exactly help him to prove his innocence. The closest powerful Nation able to potentially take the Kingdom of France down in a fight was definitely England. Even Germany's proud army was less than capable of a feat of that proportion.  
"China!? You as well? What is all this? I didn't bloody kill the idiot! Who's next to accuse me? Huh? America, maybe? Canada?" A few murmured words floated over to where the Europeans had shuffled away from the Englishman, leaving him alone and revealed. He turned to where the Americas had clustered together. "Really?!" His voice was raising in pitch, and he took a breath, returning his voice to it's normal pitch.  
The United States of America shrugged. "Sorry dude, it seems like Frenchie was powerful-er than everyone else."  
"That's not a word, you bloody idiot!" England's anger grew. Everyone had shifted together, and the Americas joined them, no longer separated by the figurative Atlantic Ocean of a wide swath of empty room, and the Nations formed a wall of accusation, impenetrable and unmoving.  
"Don't speak in past tense," Someone called out from behind the "wall". England thought he recognized the voice of that of one of France's close friends and allies, Portugal. "Francis is definitely still out there. He can't just disappear."  
_Wait, what?_ England turned the other Nation's words over in his mind, trying them and poking at them. Something wasn't right with the way the other Nation spoke. Carefully, he called out. "What do you mean, Andre?" England was careful to use the Nation's human name, though it would've been too late. The Portuguese didn't get a chance to answer.  
A rumbling shook the ground, and a collective mutter spread through the gathered Nations. Some smarter Nations, such as Portugal, stepped back to be wreathed in the shadows, pulling up hoods and throwing on cloaks, but the crumbling walls swallowed many of them up, literally, as people came flooding over and through them and rubble rained down upon the open room. The doors burst open and fell off their rusting hinges with a crash. More citizens came crowding through the open area.  
England took a quick glance around the room, already moving towards the back wall, which had most of it's ceiling intact, and therefore the densest shadow. He also happened to know that there were no people entering that way, as bottom of the wall was clogged with thorn bushes. England himself had taken the time to scout out the meeting area with the help of Iceland. All of the Nations had dispersed, some throwing off their cloaks in an attempt to disguise themselves as normal. This turned out to be in vain, as bloodhounds, which have the uncanny ability to sense Nations' auras, were released into the room.  
England winced, watching one take down Austria but being unable to help. All around him, the same thing was happening to almost everyone. The sights were horrifying and sometimes gruesome. A few splashes of blood surrounded an area where a German Shepherd had leaped up on The Netherlands and sunk it's teeth into the Nation's side. England sprinted on, reaching the back wall after encountering a few other scenes, which he quickly adjusted his path to _avoid at all costs_.  
England was by no means a selfish Nation, but he didn't pause in his mad dash to help the other Nations around him. He spotted Norway and Denmark fighting side by side once again, blocking a couple dozen people from getting to Svalbard, Greenland, Faroe Islands, and Iceland, who seemed quite indignant at being protected, though he had no weapon or training in combat, unlike the two older Nations.  
Japan, with Greece in tow, China, pulling along an injured Hong Kong, and South Korea had pulled out their respective weapons and, united as brothers once more, began to fight the storm of opposition. Perhaps, England thought grimly, nodding to the three as he sprinted past, hoping yet not hoping they would follow. This may be a good thing, in some ways.  
The Nation reached the back wall relatively soon. He immediately moved into a more secluded location, where a tumble of debris shadowed a small corner. And, furthermore, the debris climbed to the open sky, where England could escape. This is the first organized attack on the Nations, he thought correctly. While some Nations had been attacked and injured by people in the past, the incidents were few and far apart. Nothing like this had occurred in Nation history. A few shouts caught the Brit's attention. He turned his head, and immediately cursed and began quickly climbing the cluttered mass of debris. He had been spotted. A few people had begun to give chase. Reaching the top of the wall, he leaped down, pulling his cloak around him in an effort to evade as much thorn-induced injury as possible, though the threat of death, capture, or severe injury at the hands of the angry people held precedence in his mind. After he fell, holding back a muffled curse, he lay still for a moment in the thick brush. He could hear the shouting above him. One voice in particular stood out. It sounded vaguely familiar, but all the same, not familiar at all. "Come on! We're wasting our time! He probably fell on his head or something! There are more for the pickings inside." The voices made some further sounds, and a flashlight beam even shone near him, but in time that, too, disappeared.  
England sighed in relief, but waited a few precious moments afterwards to dare movement. Right away, the Brit could tell he was injured somewhere. Tearing the bottom off of his cloak with a small effort, he wrapped it around his upper leg, where he spotted a splash of blood, steadily growing larger as his heart, hammering with anxiety and adrenaline, pumped the red liquid out through his injury. Finally, when he thought he would be okay, he risked standing up. He saw, thankfully, that the people had retreated from the opening on the top of the building, and heard, not sure what to think, the sounds of screaming and fighting from inside the building diminish. A wave of dizziness passed over him as the Brit stumbled away from the site of the- it could only be described with one word- massacre. As he finally found somewhere he could enjoy a brief respite, he bumped into someone.  
England tensed, but relaxed when the person let down their black hood, long brown hair tumbling down their back, revealing them to be Hungary. She held onto his hand and smiled comfortingly. He hesitantly curved his lips upwards a bit, relief swallowing him. What a strange time this was, England supposed. Hungary led them to where a small group of Nations had managed to escape the fates the humans had felt necessary to enforce upon them. Among the group was Japan, Russia, Canada (finally visible for once, poor chap), Greece, Bulgaria, and Romania.  
"Spread the word." Japan's soft voice was firm and grave. Everyone was close, and the small group of Nations could not risk letting people searching for escapees such as themselves hear, but his words held some small amount of defiance and hope, and the spirits around the group were lifted oh so much higher. "We are no longer safe."

**A/N Begins Here**

Whoo hoo. I'm not going to bother saying that this is my first story, as you likely will not care too much. I will however mention that if you have not yet figured it out, Hetalia does not belong to me. This is a long, but important, Author's Note. Please read to not be confused. Now for some background. The events mentioned in this first prologue happen in the order as follows:

- Present day (2014)  
- Humankind takes to the ocean again, in the Russian and Greenlandic settlements floating on the Northern Sea. (2030)  
- Soon to follow, England and Ireland, though they are credited with underwater settlements first. (2056)  
- Great Anglo-Irish Floods (2062)  
- World War Three begins (2100)  
- World War Three reaches it's height (2115) From here, everything dies down until it's just a few countries left fighting. Most have surrendered or been eradicated. However, there are still some small skirmishes, as tensions are high.  
- The events of this chapter (2159) This will be referred to as the Great Nation Hunt of 2159, and will continue for the next two prologues.

I've been trying not to favor my favorite characters, being Norway, Lithuania, and those guys, but if you see them being used a bit more than the others, just know that I could have used them a LOT more.

Headcanons will be used in this story, as well as fewer pairings than normal. I will hint at a few pairings, like brotherly AmeCan, some AusHun, other things like that, so long as they have historical basis. I tend to view Hetalia in a very historical way

OCs are going to be introduced. I have the Nordic Region, which I will post character profiles for, and I have some other areas. Mexico, Portugal, and so on. As Nations tend to be male characters, I have tried to keep it about 80% male OCs, so the only really female OCs I have planned are Czech Republic, Svalbard and Greenland, and a few others that will be introduced later. Not to worry, however, as my OCs will very rarely be mentioned, minus one very important OC.

This story has a roughly 50 - 70 chapter outline. It will continue for a while.

Updates are planned on a weekly basis. However, I had originally written the first 21 chapters on a notebook, which subsequently got lost just six weeks ago. I am now re-writing the story off memory, so I will post when the weekly marker comes up or when I get a chapter written, if that happens after the weekly marker. Two more prologues are planned after this, and then the real story begins.


	2. Prologue Part Two

3rd Person POV - Location: Unknown  
September 24th, 2159

The wind whistled along the dead alley. Boxes were stacked and tumbling in sagging heaps. Grime coated the place like the greasy fur that covered the alley cats. A single outdated streetlight among the old-style buildings cast a dingey yellow spotlight on the potholed street. A slight tapping along the street would warn passerby of the man's approach, had there been any passerby.  
The man had black hair in a bowl cut with long bangs that covered the tops of his eyes, but nobody could see that because of the hood that covered the man's head. The man was cautious. He walked quickly and with purpose, like he had somewhere to go. He stayed to the shadows. At the edge of the pool of light, he stopped. Someone was coming.  
The newcomer walked past the black-haired man like he didn't see him. He was carrying a briefcase, and had greasy brown hair, like a business man who had too much gel and time on his hands.  
The black haired man checked both directions, and only relaxed after he assured himself that nobody was coming. He, who was known to his friends as Kiku, kept walking. Staying just out of sight of the other man who had just passed him, he swiftly turned into a connecting alley.  
This alley had even more houses lined up along either side. The structures were built so long ago, and unsteadily as they were now, they seemed to be ready to cave in on Kiku at an moment. The man was not claustraphobic, but now he hurried on ever quicker, eager to leave the eerie side alley.  
Out, finally, of that stifling place, Kiku turns his head, now almost running in his eagerness to return to where ever he is going. He ignores all of the old buildings, until one in particular catches his eye. It is draped in shadows, almost unable to be seen. He walks up to it, breathing quickly and heart beating at 150 beats per minute. The door has a latch, a circular thing that one must turn clockwise and then pull to open. Kiku examines it, then pulls a small lever hidden behind it. It occurs to him, briefly, when he opens the door, that the lever seemed slightly loose. But he ignores the feeling, deciding that, as the door had been opened several times that way in the past, the lever would be loosening up a bit.  
The door swings open easily, revealing a yawning deepness that seems to swallow Kiku. He steps inside.  
The wall seems wider today. The man fumbling for the lightswitch does his best, patting the wall confusedly, as if he can't see. Which he can't, in the pitch blackness. As he does this, he calls.  
"Ludwig-san! I have returned."  
A voice calls out, making Kiku freeze. It wasn't who he expected. In fact, it wasn't a voice he recognized at all. He couldn't identify the speaker or the it's location.  
"Ah, have you? Very well."  
Kiku tenses. "Y-you are not Germany-san."  
He could almost hear the voice smirking. "I am not," the voice, now identified as at least a male voice, said, sounding amused. "But you have just proved my theory."  
In the wide open room, the voice bounced around wildly, giving Kiku no clues as to where it had come from. But he had memorized the layout of the house, and now he used that to his advantage, moving towards the only exit to the room. It was only once he was grabbed that he realized how stupid he had been. Of course the stranger had to be standing in the only other way out.  
"Nighty-night!" The stranger said cheerfully.

**A/N Begins Here**

**Hullo! Sorry for the late upload! It's a few days late, but I just finished it. Took a while, I guess. The next one is the last prologue before the beginning. I do plan to get the next prologue released on or before time, in compensation. These chapters take a bit of time to write, though.**  
**I've finally gotten on top of my schoolwork and stuff, now I just have to juggle hurdles practice along with writing, gaming, and game-making. And I might take longer to write until my glasses come in, as my eyesight when reading or working gives me headaches.. But that might only be one or two prologues. Even typing this I feel nauseous.**  
**I know these prologues are short, but I can't do much about it. They are prolouges, after all. Actually, most of the chapters will be short. I might add some more filler stuff to them later, though.**  
**Ciao! Till next time!**


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